Date: Wed, 20 Aug 2008 14:22:41 -0400
From: montrealormolu@aol.com
Subject: The Glance - chapter 7

Monday morning came bright and early, like it always does after a good
weekend. Chuck stretched, caught John up in a deep kiss, and then jumped
out of bed. He had to hurry. He showered and got dressed. As he came out of
the bedroom, he smelled the wonderful scent of fresh coffee. He followed
his nose to the kitchen to find John, dressed only in loose gym shorts,
pouring coffee. "Here's yours, mine's coming," John said as he handed a
steaming mug to Chuck, "I'll have toast and eggs in just a second. Sit down
and relax." Chuck started to protest, but John hushed him quickly. "You
need to eat something, and this will only take a sec." Chuck sat down at
the kitchen table, already set for two.

John had already started something on the stove. As Chuck watched, John
bustled efficiently between stove and toaster. As if by magic, a plate
appeared before Chuck. "Two eggs, poached on toast with home-made
hollandaise. I think you'll like mine better than McDonald's."

Chuck leered, "I already like yours better than anyone else's." He set to
with gusto, a blissful smile crossing his face as he bit into the eggs and
hollandaise. "God, this is good. I've never tasted anything like this
before."

John brought his own plate to the table and sat with Chuck, enjoying
Chuck's very evident pleasure at breakfast. "I'm glad you like it. I think
everyone should start the day well." Chuck quickly finished, polishing his
plate with his toast. He sat back, full, "That was great! Thank you. But,
I've got to go. I need to get back home, change, and then get to class, and
..."

"Shhh. It's OK. I know. Go, go, go. I'll talk to you later."

They kissed at the door, a long, lingering kiss, and then Chuck dashed out
the door to his car, and drove off.

John watched him go, and then went back in. His fingers grazed his lips as
he replayed that last kiss. His thoughts went over the last day with
amazement. He went back to the kitchen, cleaned up and poured himself one
more cup of coffee. Then he went into the family room and sat down. He
drank slowly, gazing out the window at the backyard. The big Maine Coon Cat
suddenly appeared and demanded attention. He stroked Joe, the cat,
carefully, letting his fingers play behind the ears and gently down the
back, rubbing the tummy as the cat rolled over, enjoying the
attention. John let his mind drift. He didn't understand what was
happening. He'd always been in such control over his life, and now he felt
swept away by `this', whatever `this' was. He really, really enjoyed being
with Chuck. The sex had been great, breaking a long fast he'd not
intentionally embarked upon. That was good. But, he was pretty
closeted. How was he going to deal with all `this'? How was he going to
deal with his parish, with his bishop, with his family?

"Hey, quiet down, John. You're getting ahead of yourself. Sure this was
great, but before you begin getting all worked up, see if it's got a
future." Sometimes he talked aloud to himself; he was used to being
alone. "OK, cat, time to get going."

John got up, put his cup away in the kitchen and went back to the
bedroom. He quickly showered and dressed, ready for a day at the
office. His wardrobe choices were limited, which black shirt, which black
pants, but he did have a choice of crosses he could wear. He put his cell
phone in his pocket, grabbed his briefcase and went out to his own car.

The day dragged on, all the usual things -- mail, phone calls, check in
with the secretary, begin to work on next week's sermon and bulletin,
double-check the music, etc. Yet he found himself smiling at odd moments,
remembering. He was in a good mood, not as tired as he usually was on a
Monday, and everyone noticed. His secretary smiled back at him, wondering
why he was in such a good mood. He went out to lunch, as usual, with one of
his friends, another cleric.

They arrived at the restaurant together. It was a quiet little
hole-in-the-wall, comfortable with excellent food. They sat at one of the
little tables on the outdoor front patio, watching the people hurry back
and forth to all their terribly important appointments. They ordered soups
and salads, a light lunch for both of them. Idly they chatted, waiting for
the soup to arrive, sipping a good white wine. His friend leaned forward,
"You're in a remarkably good mood today. If I didn't know better, I'd say
you got laid." John blushed and looked down. "Oh my God, you did! OK, tell,
tell."

"Jeff, you can't tell anyone."

"Honey, who am I going to tell? I'm as closeted as you are. You know you
can trust me. So, who is he?"

John still hesitated, then he leaned forward and began to tell Jeff about
his weekend, keeping Chuck's identity confidential, but telling him about
how wonderful it had been. "I don't know, Jeff, what do I do now? I really
like him, but he's a parishioner, and I'm in the closet, and ..." John
trailed off, looking confused. The waiter arrived with their soups and
salads, carefully placing them on the table, arranging fresh bread and
butter, crackers, and then stepping back.

"Will there be anything else, gentlemen?"

"No, thank you." The waiter left them alone. They began to sip the soup,
each lost in his own thoughts. After the first few spoonfuls, Jeff leaned
back, took some bread and began to butter it. Then he looked up. "John,
first, I'm really pleased for you. You've got it bad, and that's just
delightful. I know how lonely you've been, and if this guy can fill that
void, then more power to you. Second, he's a brand new parishioner, so I
don't think there's an ethical conflict of interest. You know that you
can't be his priest, but he can come to see me when he needs one. So that
issue can be kept clean. Third, this is the 21st century and we're
Episcopalians. Sure, some of us are still pretty uptight about gays, but
others are not. You know that the bishop is a good guy. I don't think he'll
have too much of a problem with this. And the parish -- well, some will and
some won't, and that's the truth of it. Fourth, don't create problems
before their time. Just see where this is going. Maybe it's just a fling --
though, knowing you, I kind of doubt that. And maybe it's the real thing.
If so, I couldn't be happier for you. Just go slow, John. Don't rush
things. Let it develop naturally."

John looked up at him, his spoon hovering over the plate. His eyes were
watering, surprising himself. And he realized just how much he had needed
to hear those words from his friend. Maybe, just maybe, it would work out.